The Last Place
by iheartwriting
Summary: It's New Year's Eve and a muggle fortune teller tells Hermione that she'll receive a kiss (and find true love!) at midnight. (Post-DH. Doesn't follow canon.) HermioneXGeorge Fluff :) ONE-SHOT. COMPLETE.


**Author's Note:** Hello, all! I hope you are well :) I'm sure a couple of you remember that I was going to post a multi-chapter GeorgeXHermione fic after I finished Keeping Secrets, but life does what it does and got in the way ;) The holidays are always so busy and I didn't have the time I thought I'd have to write a multi-chapter fic and, since that particular story is Christmas related, I'm putting it on hold. I will try once again to get it posted for Christmas 2015! haha. But I didn't want to end the year without giving you guys _something_, so I whipped up a little one-shot for you.

I hope you enjoy :)

(As always, I own nothing.)

**XX**

It was New Year's Eve, and a traveling, muggle carnival had rolled into London.

Ron was curious (having never experienced a muggle carnival himself) and so he, Harry, and I spent the entire chilly afternoon enjoying the lights, and the food, and the rickety rides that would've been a bit more terrifying if I hadn't known a whole host of protective spells that I could rattle off at a second's notice if things went wrong. We even crammed ourselves–all three of us–into one seat on the ferris wheel, and it was almost like old times, when we were the young, troublesome trio, all huddled together under Harry's cloak.

It was comforting, realizing that some things would never change.

Like the way Ron had just spotted a tent with food and was now eyeing it covetously, even though we'd had a large, late lunch at my flat just a few hours prior.

But then I spied the pretty blonde girl working the booth, and realized Ron was eyeing her just as much as he was the food. To my surprise, it didn't even feel weird for me. There was no twinge of jealousy. No discomfort. Only mild amusement.

Ron and I had ended things a little while back, as we both found that we were much happier and got along much more easily when romance was taken out of the equation.

So I reached out to Ron, smoothing down the collar of his jacket, and then spun him around and pushed him off in the direction of the girl.

"Don't forget to get her name this time," I teased.

"Yeah, yeah," he called back, but he was smiling sheepishly, because just last week he had indeed gotten so nervous attempting to chat-up a pretty girl that he'd failed to get her name or any other vital piece of information that would allow him to get in touch with her again. "Meet up with you two in a bit, yeah?"

"Go get her, tiger," Harry said, though this attempt at a pep talk only made Ron's ears go red with embarrassment.

"Harry," I scolded, looping my arm through his and steering him for a walk in the opposite direction, as Ron made his way towards the girl. "Don't make him more nervous than he already is."

"But it's so entertaining," he said, grinning until he caught sight of the disapproving look on my face. "Joking," he added, bumping his shoulder into mine in what I assumed was an attempt to loosen me up. "Come on. I'm determined to win one of those stupid bears for Ginny."

"You know most of these games are rigged," I pointed out, but Harry was already pulling me back towards the booth where earlier he'd been trying his best (sans magic) to win a silly little muggle prize for his girlfriend.

But before we reached the booth, Harry stopped suddenly, his abrupt halt jarring me, considering my arm was still tightly woven through his.

"What was that for?" I asked, sounding a little annoyed as I reached up with my free hand and tried to massage the slight ache out of my shoulder.

He was looking at me with raised eyebrows, amused smile on his face.

I glanced around, confused. "What?"

He jerked his head to the left, directing my gaze to a nearby tent. Unlike the others, most of which were lit up with flashing, multicolored lights, this tent was dark, the flaps of the entrance closed, only the slightest glow peeking through.

There was a small wooden sign hanging in front and on it, painted in faded-gold letters, were the words: Fortune Teller.

I shot Harry a look. "You can't be serious."

"It'll be good for a laugh."

And before I could protest further, he was dragging us inside.

The air within was hazy–a cheap carnival trick, likely the result of a smoke machine–and heavy with the scent of burning incense, and a faint, metallic tinkling of wind-chimes filled my ears.

A curtain of strung beads parted suddenly and noisily, causing both Harry and I to jump.

"Welcome. Welcome!" A plump, middle-aged woman stepped into the room, her hands–adorned with too many over-sized rings–raised in the air in dramatic fashion. "And what have we here?" She eyed the place where Harry and I were connected, our arms still linked together. "Two darling lovebirds, come to have their futures predicted?"

"Erm–" Harry began, cheeks suddenly pink, but the woman interrupted him.

"Oh, no, of course not. Silly me," she said, her gaze continuing to flick from Harry to me and back again. "Not in this lifetime, anyway. No, no. You–" she paused, reaching out to pat Harry's cheek, "–so steadfast and loyal in your love for the strong, young girl." Her voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper. "Ooh, a fiery one, isn't she?"

Harry looked pleasantly surprised and turned to give me a smirk that said something like, "see, she's actually right!"

I supposed strong and fiery did describe Ginny's persona, with the "fiery" part doubling to describe her hair as well. But, honestly, it was such a generic description that it could've easily fit most anyone.

"And you," the lady went on, her smile slipping as she moved to face me. "Oh, dear." She shook her head sadly. "Haven't had the best of luck in love, have we?"

I felt my face go warm, especially at the sound of Harry choking back a laugh. "Excuse me?" I retorted in my best indignant tone.

"Oh, it's quite alright," she said kindly. "I can feel it. The loneliness. The fear of rejection."

The only thing _I_ could feel in the moment was annoyance, and I squared my shoulders and puffed my chest out, ready to give her a piece of my mind.

But she cut me off. "Do not trouble yourself over it," she went on, completely oblivious to my anger. "I sense that it is very near, your great love." She took my hand, patting it as if to reassure me, but the moment our hands touched, she gasped, looking up at me in great surprise. "Yes!" she nearly shouted, now dragging me towards the back of the tent. "Come. Come!" There was a crystal ball perched atop a low table, and she dropped to her knees, settling herself onto one of the many cushions covering the floor, and leaned over to gaze into the sphere. "Ahh, yes!" she said again. "_Yes_. It is very near for you, indeed. Tonight is the night!"

I stood where I was and crossed my arms over my chest, sighing. That was always the way with these "seers." All flashy theatrics, and predictions so vague that they could be interpreted however the poor idiot listening wanted to hear it.

The woman looked up from her crystal ball then, a small, knowing smile on her face as her gaze settled once more on me. "A disbeliever, I see," she said. "But that will change soon enough, my dear."

"I really don't think it will," I said dryly.

But she wasn't swayed by my cynicism. "An old friend," she said. "Almost a decade of history between you." And then she frowned. "Heavens! A decade? With true love right in front of you! Are you blind, child?" She returned her attention to her crystal ball, as if she doubted what she had seen there. Ridiculous, of course, considering she was making up the entire thing. "But, no. Perhaps you are not so very blind. Perhaps it is simply the last place you would ever think to look."

"Yes, I'm sure," I said with a roll of my eyes as I spun around to leave. "Harry, come on."

"He is on a quest!" she called out, her words coming quick and frantic, obviously desperate to say something that would grab my attention and convince me to buy into her rubbish. "For ages he has been looking, searching for something very important to him. And he will find it with you!" When Harry and I reached the entrance of the tent, she made one last pathetic attempt. "Tonight. He will kiss you at the stroke of midnight!"

At this, I did stop and turn back around, though not for the reason she probably hoped. "Imagine that!" I snorted. "Predicting a kiss at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve! _Everyone_ gets a kiss at midnight."

Well. Not me. Not this year. I would be happily ringing in the new year in my new apartment, alone with my books and a nice bottle of wine. But most people did go out, and most people did get a kiss, even if only a platonic one, at the stroke of midnight. If she wanted to impress me with a prediction, she would have to be a bit more creative than that.

I grabbed Harry's hand and tugged him through the tent's opening, while the woman's voice came floating after us one last time. "Mark my words, child. You find true love tonight!"

"Can you believe her?" I huffed, turning to look at Harry as I led him on a hasty retreat away from the fortune teller's tent. "Honestly. I don't know why you thought it would be a good idea to go in there."

"I don't know," he said, sounding a touch too amused. "Predictions and prophecies do come true sometimes, you know. Maybe tonight's your night."

"Harry," I said, still annoyed but this time managing a laugh. "It's completely mental, the whole thing. Divination is a fallible and unreliable branch of magic even for the most gifted of seers. Predictions that actually come true are few and far between. And the idea that a muggle fortune teller at a muggle carnival could accurately predict something as complicated and perplexing as my love life is simply laughable."

"Your love life is complicated and perplexing?"

"Well, you know," I began, shifting my gaze to the ground. "Surely you've noticed things in that department aren't exactly thriving for me at the moment..." I trailed off, feeling uncomfortable. I'd gone on a couple of dates after Ron and I ended things, but nothing serious. Nothing all that _memorable_ for that matter.

Harry frowned. "Hermione. You aren't actually lonely are you?" he asked, clearly concerned as the silly fortune teller's words replayed in his head. You know you can come round and see me anytime–"

I flashed him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Harry." I reached out, patting his arm. "Really, I am."

What did it matter if I wasn't in a relationship? It was hardly the end of the world.

He looked hesitant, but finally relented. "Alright. But, look, come out with Ginny and me tonight. The Holyhead Harpies are having a New Year's Eve party. Some of England's best quidditch players will be there. Maybe you'll meet someone."

"Right," I laughed. "Because England's best quidditch players would probably go for the bushy-haired, book-loving, ministry employee, rather than the gorgeous model-types dancing around in their short, sparkly dresses."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Why not? And, besides, maybe one of those quidditch players is dragging along _their_ curly-haired, book-loving best friend, and the two of you brush hands reaching across the same platter of hors d'oeuvres. Match made in Heaven!" I narrowed my eyes at him, but Harry was not discouraged. "You heard the woman. Your true love is out there tonight. Why couldn't he be at the Holyhead Harpies party?"

I shook my head, intent on ignoring him. "Come on. Let's go see what's become of Ronald."

xx

I was curled up on the couch in my flat, halfway through one of the new books my parents had given me for Christmas, two glasses of wine down, and just one hour to go until midnight, when I realized that I was starving.

And then I came to the disappointing realization that there was nearly nothing in the pantry, and even less in the refrigerator.

That's what I got for having Harry and Ron over for lunch and telling Ron to help himself to anything in the kitchen.

I could have run to the supermarket three blocks over, picked up a few things, then dashed back home to cook something...

But that would entail cooking. And washing up. And, really, six blocks seemed like an awful lot of walking after those two lovely glasses of wine.

The other option would be to walk down to The Leaky Cauldron. The muggle entrance was just at the end of my street; a much shorter trip. I could have a quick bite, leave the cleaning up to them, and be home just in time to ring in the new year from the quiet comfort of my own cozy bed.

My stomach growled, settling the matter.

I paused when I reached the front door, turning to look in the small mirror hanging on the adjacent wall so I could see what I was doing as I knotted a scarf around my neck and tucked the loose ends into my coat.

_Tonight is the night._

The fortune teller's words rang in my head, and a vision came unbidden–as clear as if I'd used one of the Weasley Twins' patented daydream charms–of me, standing with a tall, handsome stranger. His voice dropping to a gentle hush as he told me he'd finally found everything he'd been searching for, in me. A muffled chorus of voices counted down the seconds 'til midnight. And, finally, true love's first kiss.

A dreamy sigh escaped my lips.

But the the spell was broken by the sound of my own breath, the hazy daydream vanishing from my mind's eye until all I was left with was my own reflection once again.

For a fraction of a second, I wondered if I should swipe on a bit of lipstick, just in case.

But then I laughed. The idea of dolling myself up for a late-night dash to The Leaky Cauldron, where the only male attention I'd receive would likely be from old Tom, the innkeeper, was absolutely absurd.

...Still, I ran a hand over my hair to ease the frizz in my curls just before stepping out the door.

Just in case.

xx

The Leaky Cauldron was fairly crowded, not surprising for a pub on New Year's Eve. But I found a small, unoccupied table, and the moment a hot meal was placed in front of me, all thoughts of true love and mysterious strangers and batty old fortune tellers left me.

As I stood up to leave, now feeling nice and full and much happier for it, I glanced at the watch on my wrist. 11:45. With a five minute walk home, that gave me ten minutes still to brush my teeth, wash my face, and slip into my pajamas for my comfy, cozy, _peaceful_ ringing in of the new year.

Perfect.

"Oof!" The breath was knocked from my lungs as I turned around, and ran right into something. Someone. A man. A tall man with wonderfully muscular arms that immediately reached out to steady me.

My heartbeat quickened in my chest as a tiny part of me hoped against all hope that the batty old lady was right, and that I had just literally run into the man of my dreams.

But that hope died just as quickly as it had been born as I looked up and found none other than George Weasley staring back down at me.

"Alright there, Granger?" he asked, warm, kind eyes sparkling in amusement at our distinctly-ungraceful encounter.

And I laughed. Loudly.

His grin grew. "Something funny?"

I shook my head, trying now to stifle my laughter. "No. Nothing," I said, though that wasn't the slightest bit true.

George Weasley. Great love of my life.

I giggled again, but brought a hand up to cover my mouth. "I'm sorry," I said at last. "I wasn't watching where I was going. I didn't mean to run into you like that."

"Ah, it's alright," he said, letting his hands fall away from my arms now that he was certain we were both steady on our feet. "I wasn't looking where I was going either. I was too busy staring at the door." He tapped the side of his nose like he'd just learned a great secret and said, "but I'm making a mental note now that I should probably focus more on what's right in front of me." A frazzled barmaid–attempting to levitate no less than ten plates of piping hot food over the heads of the crowd–pushed past George, forcing him even closer into my personal space. "Especially in a crowded room," he added, tone still light and playful.

"Good idea," I said, and he hummed in agreement, now turning his head and standing slightly on tiptoe to gaze at the door.

A sudden sinking suspicion came over me. "...George?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not–" I paused, hesitant to even asked. "You're not _looking_ for something are you?"

He turned back to me, eyeing me peculiarly. I supposed it was a strange question. "Just Fred," he said. "We're supposed to meet up here. We're ringing in the new year over some firewhiskey."

So he _was_ looking for something. He was looking for Fred. And Fred was very important to him. Right?

"Oi," George said, snapping me from my quickly-spiraling-into-panic thoughts. "What's with you? You feeling alright?"

I rapidly shook my head, trying to clear it, but then, realizing that might look like I was saying _no, I'm not alright_, I caught myself and began to nod instead, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

George looked doubtful. And confused. "You sure?"

"Oh, yeah," I squeaked. I cleared my throat and smiled and tried again. "Positive. Never better. But–" I nervously rung my hands together. "George. You haven't been looking for him for a long time, right? I mean, you wouldn't say you're _on a quest_ to find Fred, would you?"

"What?" he asked with a laugh. "No. I don't think so. I saw him at the flat about half an hour ago. And now I'm just, you know, casually waiting for him to show up. No epic questing involved."

I laughed too, still nervous, but also embarrassed because I knew how insane I must have sounded. "Right."

Well. Good. He wasn't on a quest.

And besides, it wasn't as if I had Fred with me. And that's what the lady had said, wasn't it? He would find what he was searching for, _with me_. And I was fairly certain Fred was not with me.

Not that it mattered anyway! It was all nonsense: every single word that old loon had uttered. And now I was being the loon by letting it get to me.

"Granger!" George said suddenly, his eyes lighting up, his voice full of excitement. "A grey hair!"

I glanced around, not understanding. "Pardon?"

"You have a grey hair!"

"What? No, I don't!" I said, perhaps a bit too defensively.

"You do!" he insisted, and I couldn't for the life of me understand why he was looking so happy about it.

I raised my hand to the top of my head, feeling around as if I would be able to find it just by touch. "Where!?"

George stilled my wrist, and delicately secured the offending strand between his own fingers before guiding mine to it. "Here."

Without a second thought, I yanked it out. Sure enough, it was a single strand of shimmering silver. I knew my mother had greyed early, but this was ridiculous.

"I know this is quite the peculiar request," George said, while I frowned deeply at this first, entirely-too-early sign of my impending old age, "but can I have it?"

I immediately lifted my gaze to George's face, one eyebrow raised at him in question.

"It's not as creepy as it sounds, I swear," he rushed to explain. "I need it for a new line of Wonder Witch products we're developing. An anti-aging line. Trying to bring in a more diverse range of customers, you see. This is the final ingredient needed for the night cream. This is the _only_ thing missing! A grey hair from a witch!"

No.

Nope.

It couldn't be.

"You're joking," I said, now struggling to catch my breath.

"I'll tell you what, I'll buy it from you. Yeah?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My voice wasn't working.

George seemed to think my silence was hesitation, so he continued to plead. "We tried to get one off mum, but she got a bit touchy about the whole thing. It was pretty amusing, actually, her insisting she doesn't have any grey hairs, when we all know she's been dyeing it for years." He held up his hand, the tips of his thumb and forefinger spaced just an inch apart. "Fred was _this_ close to plucking a hair from this old Granny who came into our shop last week. And I was close to letting him. We _need_ this. I swear, I've been on a–" he paused, considering his words, "well, I was going to say quest, but you just used that word, so now it feels redundant. But, believe me, Hermione, I've been looking for _ages_! Please?"

I told myself that I was being stupid, that I was letting an old fraud get inside my head. Coincidence. That's all it was.

Still, as I held the thin, silver strand out for George to take, my hand trembled.

Fred came sauntering up just as George was securing the hair in a small, protective metal box that he'd pulled from a pocket inside his coat.

"Hey, Georgie!" Fred said, bumping into George's hip with his own so that George would scoot over and make a little more room for him. "Granger!" he said, now looking at me. "This is a pleasant surprise."

I opened my mouth, trying to come up with a witty response, or at least a polite greeting, but fortunately George spoke up and saved me from my floundering.

"We have a grey hair!" he announced to Fred, while tenderly patting the metal box like it contained precious treasure. "We can finally get to work on the anti-aging line."

Fred beamed. "Brilliant! Where'd you get it?"

George leaned into Fred, lowering his voice. "Granger." He gave me an unusually serious look then and added, "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with us."

I just shook my head, not caring. Going grey was currently the least of my worries.

"So," George said, talking at normal volume once again as he glanced around the room. I followed his gaze, noticing that most of the patrons were now standing, the crowd getting thicker and closer as everyone pressed in together, drinks in hand. "Celebratory drink to ring in the new year, brother?"

"Don't mind if I do," Fred said in response.

"And you, Granger?" George went on. "Can I get you a drink?"

Again my pulse quickened. "Oh, no," I insisted, thankful that I'd finally found my voice, even if it was a bit shaky. I checked the time again. Five minutes until midnight. "No. I can't. I have to get going."

"Big New Year's Eve plans?" he asked, now grinning. "Got a hot date waiting to kiss you at midnight?"

"No!" My heart was absolutely pounding now. Why would he say that? What did he mean by it? "Nothing like that," I went on, my words rushed and rambling, scared senseless. "I'm quietly ringing the new year in at home this year, that's all. In my new flat."

"On your own?" Fred said, brow furrowed.

"Well, yes..."

"Nope," George said simply. "Not acceptable. I'm getting you a drink."

Fred nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Granger. You'll ring in the new year with us!"

"But–!" I started to argue, but it was too late. George was already squeezing his way through the crowd, heading towards the bar.

"You can't ring in the new year alone with your books," Fred teased.

I couldn't exactly explain that I needed to run away because I was half-terrified, half-_hopeful_ over this completely bizarre notion that George might be mere minutes away from kissing me, so I tried to force a polite smile instead. Then I bit down on my lip and looked away, focusing on a small crack in the stone wall, and certainly _not_ thinking about the muscular redhead with whom I shared almost a decade of history, and who was currently at the bar buying me a drink.

I closed my eyes, hoping that would ease the panic. _You're being absurd_, I told myself once again. _In ten minutes, you'll be back home in your bed, alone, no great new revelations regarding your love life, and you're going to be laughing at yourself for even_ considering–

"Here you are, Hermione." George's voice interrupted my thoughts and I opened my eyes to find him standing before me, holding a glass of something pale and bubbly that he offered to me.

It took all my concentration to still the shaking of my hands as I accepted the drink.

"Twenty seconds!" someone on the other side of the room shouted.

George and Fred exchanged excited looks, while I fidgeted nervously, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

"Fifteen!" someone else shouted now.

Fred was making eyes at a pretty little witch standing nearby, while she fluttered her lashes right back at him. Those two had found someone to kiss at midnight, then.

I didn't dare look directly at George, too scared to see which witch he was eyeing. But I'd been cursed with excellent peripheral vision.

George was looking only at me.

"Ten," called a chorus of voices.

My palms were starting to sweat.

"Granger," George said.

I tried to sound nonchalant. "Yeah?"

("Nine...")

I could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm going to kiss you."

("Eight...")

I forgot about being nonchalant. "What!?"

("Seven...")

"It's tradition," he said. "We can't ignore tradition."

No. No, no, no. This is George. George Weasley!

("Six...")

Sure, he was good-looking. (A thought confirmed to be true when I finally mustered the courage to look up at him.)

("Five!")

Yes, fine. He was _very_ good-looking. But that was completely beside the point!

("Four!")

I saw Fred sidling up to the pretty girl he'd been eyeing, and when I glanced back to George, he gave me a devilish little smile.

This was madness...

("Three!")

He took one small step towards me.

("Two!")

And raised his eyebrows in questioning, clearly wondering whether or not I was actually going to let him go through with this.

I sucked in a scared breath.

And tilted my face up to him.

...Absolute madness.

("_One_!")

There was an immediate boom of cheers and whistles and cheerful shouts of "Happy New Year!" but, in one swift swoop, George's lips met mine, drowning all of it out.

It was warm and gentle, this kiss. George's lips were surprisingly soft and, when he wrapped one arm around my waist, his other hand coming up to cradle my head so that he could dip me to the floor, my stomach dipped too, though it had less to do with the sensation of falling, and much much more to do with the way George's mouth was moving against my own.

And then it was over.

George pulled me back up, just as quickly as he'd dipped me, and stood me upright on my feet.

_Merlin. _

_Just a kiss! A tradition!_ I reminded myself. If anyone else had been standing there, George would've kissed them instead. And if my head hadn't been filled with that preposterous prediction about finding love tonight, I would have brushed this off as nothing.

Like I told the woman, it was New Year's Eve! You ring in the new year surrounded by people, chances are you're going to get kissed! Ring in the New Year around the Weasley twins? Those chances go up astronomically!

It should come as no surprise that George kissed me.

A slight–and oh, so very pleasant–shiver went down my spine at the memory.

My eyes popped open and I glanced frantically around, hoping George had not caught me reveling in the kiss. I would have never heard the end of it.

But George had already pulled away and was now looking at his twin, the two of them raising their small glasses to each other.

"Happy New Year, Gred!" he said, while Fred beamed back and echoed, "Happy New Year, Forge!" They downed their shots in unison and then, their movements like mirroring images, they reached out to the other for a quick embrace, all happy laughs and carefree pats, followed by playful shoves as they pulled apart.

"Happy New Year, Granger," George said, turning back to me once again with a wide grin. "Thanks for the kiss."

I laughed, the sound breathless, but I didn't trust myself to speak. For the first time in my life, I feared I might say something completely idiotic. Instead I raised my glass to my lips so I wouldn't have to talk, hoping the action would also hide–or at least distract from–the flush that I could still feel burning like fire in my cheeks.

But when our eyes met over the rim of my glass, George winked at me.

"And, for Merlin's sake," he said. "Why have we never done that before?"

I nearly choked on the dry, bubbly liquid in my mouth. I was even pinker and more flustered than before. And, judging by George's growing smile, he noticed.

"Why don't you stop by the shop tomorrow?" he said with an air of casualty. "I could show you the plans we have for this beautiful strand of silver hair."

I hesitated for just a moment, not sure of how to answer. George Weasley was flirting with me, and never in a million years would I have ever thought to flirt back...

But it was this thought that settled my mind.

Because it was the last place I would ever think to look.

I lowered my glass and met George's sparkly-eyed smile with one of my own. "What time should I be there?"

**XX**

**Author's Note:** Oh, sweet GeorgeXHermione fluff! :D I churned this out really quickly, so it definitely wasn't my most well-thought out fic, and it really needs more editing, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway :)

I will be working on an OC/Legolas fanfic (which I plan to post here, if any of you would care to join me!) and I will be taking some time to work on some original fic as well. But rest assured I am not done writing for the twins and Hermione and the HP fandom! If you ever have an idea for a oneshot, please feel free to send it my way. I make no promises, but it is nice to have little stories that I can whip out in just a few days, and I do enjoy the challenge when you guys send me oneshot prompts :) Also, because a lot of you have been so so kind in reading and reviewing and following me from fic to fic, please know that you are always welcome to drop by my inbox just to say a quick hello!

I hope you all have a truly blessed and joyful 2015. HAPPY NEW YEAR! :)

xoxo


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